The White Road (14 page)

After seemingly endless introductions to kin and friends, Seregil led Alec through a warren of corridors to his old room, which Mydri had assured him was still his to use. It took a moment to remember the way, but he found it at last. Setting his pack down by the door, he looked around, trying to see it through Alec’s eyes. The bed was the same, with its golden oak headboard carved with pinecones and rabbits, and neatly made up with the colorful silk counterpane, a bit faded now and sweet with the scent of lavender and cedar. The same blue pitcher and basin were on the washstand, below the mirror he’d cracked playing a forbidden game of ball here with Kheeta one rainy day.

Outgrown toys were gone from the top of the clothes chest and windowsills, but his books and scrolls were still on their shelves, and the sword rack stood under the window, holding the wooden blades he’d used, tutored by his father, Akaien, and various older cousins. They ranged from the first tiny one that had been put into his hands when he’d only just learned to walk, up to the scarred, deeply notched wooden long sword with which he’d beaten nearly every challenger. From the very beginning it had felt right and good to have a sword in his hand, and swordsmanship had become his first passion. His quick reflexes, determination, and rapidly developing skill had earned him the respect of his elders. All except for his father, of course.

Alec closed the door and hugged Seregil. “Bilairy’s Balls, we finally made it!”

Seregil laughed softly. “It’s certainly better than where we ended up last time.”

Sebrahn was already at the window, standing on tiptoe to see out past the sword rack. Seregil picked the rhekaro up so he could see the empty garden outside, and the leafless trees that cast lacy, dancing shadows across the far wall over the bed at dawn. Seregil sighed, remembering himself being held the same way, in the strong loving arms of his sisters or uncle, when he was very small. That felt like someone else’s
life now, and he supposed it was. Then strong arms embraced Seregil and Sebrahn together, and Seregil knew that Alec wouldn’t let him go until he was sure of his mood. Seregil turned and kissed him. “I’m fine. Lots of good memories here. I was a happy child, believe it or not. I had good friends, and kin who loved me.”

“They still do and so do I, talí,” Alec said, looking far too serious. “This is your home.”

Seregil shook his head with a soft laugh. “Home is wherever you are, talí. This is just someplace I used to live.”

Alec’s arms tightened. “Don’t say that. I never had anyplace like this. It was just one inn or camp or tent after another, just my dad and me. You shouldn’t take any of this for granted.”

“Duly noted.” Which was why they weren’t going to be staying here long; not while they had Sebrahn with them.

When everyone was bathed and dressed in clean clothing, Seregil led them to the great hall at the center of the house, holding Sebrahn’s hand on one side and Alec’s on the other. Adzriel had made certain even the rhekaro had proper feasting clothes, and Alec had trimmed and braided Sebrahn’s hair and his own.

“With his hair like that, you can really see the resemblance between you two,” Micum noted.

“That’s why I did it,” Alec replied. “I want to see if it helps people accept Sebrahn more easily.”

The feast was laid out, and Seregil found himself in his old place at table with his sisters and Akaien. Sebrahn knelt on a cushion on the chair between him and Alec and paid no attention to the courses as they came.

But Seregil did, recognizing many childhood favorites. There was spiced pear cider; venison roast with wine sauce; and a huge galantine pie thick with lamb, chukka, currants, and bog berries. There were beets with marrow, toasted hazelnuts, chestnut pudding, and turnips mashed with carrots, all served up with fragrant brown loaves of Aunt Alira’s wheat bread and sweet butter still cold from the well room.

Ilina, who was quite taken with Sebrahn, eyed him with concern. “Why isn’t the little one eating?”

“Alec fed him a little while ago,” Seregil told her, which was true.

Just before the sweets course, Uncle Akaien looked down the table and waved to Seregil, motioning for him and Alec to join him. Micum had been given an honored place at his side.

“How does it feel to be home, nephew?” asked Akaien.

“Good, so far. It’s been so long.”

“I noticed that you weren’t carrying the sword I sent to you at Sarikali.”

Seregil gave him a rueful look. “I’m afraid I lost it—”

Akaien shook his head. “Another one!”

“It was in a good cause. It shattered while I was fighting a
dra’gorgos
. Not successfully, unfortunately. Alec lost his the same way. The ones we have now we stole in Plenimar.”

“I see.”

“I lost my bow, too,” Alec added. He wasn’t sure which had been the more grievous loss.

“Damn, and I wanted another match!” Kheeta said, overhearing, as he and several other young men and youths joined them.

“I’d hoped to see that Black Radly, too,” said Akaien. “Kheeta’s bragged up your prowess. But maybe we can find you another until you can replace it.”

“Actually, the khirnari at Gedre gave me a new one,” Alec told him.

“You’ll have to start your
shatta
collection all over again, though,” Kheeta pointed out. “It’s too bad, too. You had a lot.” Among the Aurënfaie, most of these match prizes were little figures or shapes carved from wood, bone, glazed clay beads, feathers, or coins with holes punched through, though some were made of precious stones or metals. “We’ll have a match tomorrow.”

“I’m in for that!” one of the young men exclaimed, and others joined in, crowding around to introduce themselves.

Seregil smiled, pleased to see Alec already making friends, as he always did, and so easily.

As soon as the meal was finished, the tables were carried away and musicians struck up dancing music.

Seregil felt the pull of it, but he was too tired to dance. Instead, he borrowed a harp and coaxed Alec into joining him for a few songs.

As the night wore on, people gradually drifted away to bed or other pastimes.

Akaien, who’d been talking swords with Micum, came over to Seregil and Alec. “I fancy a bit of fresh air, nephews,” he said, with a meaningful look at Sebrahn, who was leaning back against Alec’s leg.

A servant fetched their cloaks, and Akaien led the way out to a path by the lakeshore. Seregil inhaled the cold, fir-scented air gratefully, still trying to take in the fact that he was here, and walking with his uncle under the stars as he had so often, and with Alec, too.

“Adzriel told me a little before dinner,” said Akaien, stopping to admire the view of the starlit islands. “Alec, she says you were given some sort of prophecy about a child at Sarikali. But this is no ordinary child.”

Alec looked to Seregil, who nodded. “I trust him as I trust myself.”

So Alec told him of the prophecy and the making, but not of Sebrahn’s true powers. They’d agreed with Adzriel to keep that a secret. Sebrahn’s appearance was enough of a hurdle.

Akaien listened in thoughtful silence, then held out his arms. “Will he come to me?”

Sebrahn allowed himself to be passed over. He sat calmly in Akaien’s arms, gazing up at him, eyes shimmering in the darkness.

The older man smiled. “Such a dark birth for a child of light.”

“How do you mean, Uncle?” asked Alec.

“He was made from you. And there’s nothing evil in you or in ’faie blood. So how can there be evil in this little fellow?”

Only Adzriel’s admonition kept Seregil from telling him the whole truth. Even he didn’t think of Sebrahn as evil, but his innocent appearance was deceiving and he hated lying to his uncle. “There’s more to him than meets the eye.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Akaien said with a knowing look. “Otherwise, why would you be going to Tyrus? Would you like me to come with you? No, that’s all right. I see the answer on your face, Haba.”

“I’m sorry, Uncle.”

Akaien looked at the three of them and smiled sadly. “Your sister hopes you’ve come home for good. That’s not to be, is it? The Tír world has claimed you.”

“I’m an exile, remember?” Seregil reminded him. “I’m not Bôkthersan anymore.”

Akaien passed Sebrahn back to Alec and took Seregil by both shoulders. “You will
always
be a Bôkthersan, no matter what anyone says. Never forget that, Seregil. Perhaps—if I hadn’t taken you with me all those times when you were so young—”

“No, Uncle,” Seregil told him with a heartfelt smile. “You saved my life.”

“That’s good, then.” He kept a hand on Seregil’s shoulder and put the other on Alec’s. “Let’s walk some more before our feet freeze to the ground. Alec, you’re a quiet one. Tell me more about yourself. I want to know the young man who put the light back in my nephew’s eyes.”

Later that night, as he lay in bed with Alec with the scents of the sea and night air still clinging to their skin, Seregil gazed around the familiar room and let out a long sigh of contentment, remembering Alec’s admonishment earlier that day and his uncle’s words. This was more than just somewhere he’d once lived. It was the first place he’d ever thought of as his
own
. And now? He laughed softly.

“What?” Alec mumbled, already half asleep.

“This is the first time I’ve ever had a lover in this bed. I feel a bit wicked.”

Alec snorted softly. “Don’t you always?”

Snowbirds

T
O
A
LEC’S SURPRISE
, and Seregil’s too, Seregil was summoned to Adzriel’s chamber to meet with the clan elders the next morning. Adzriel had the authority to bring Sebrahn here, but she’d chosen to meet with the elders, as well, and fully apprise them of the situation. Seregil was part of the council. Alec and Sebrahn would be called in later.

Left to his own devices, Alec decided to do a bit of exploring, since Adzriel had kept her promise and not shut them up in their room; he fingered the bedroom key lying in his pocket like a talisman. Alec deeply appreciated the risk she was taking, both for herself and her clan, knowing what she did about Sebrahn’s powers.

The clan house had seemed like a maze last night, and it was no different in daylight. Since he had no particular destination in mind, he just wandered around with Sebrahn, meeting a few people and finding a kitchen and several large halls. At last they found themselves on a long covered porch that overlooked the lake.

It had snowed again last night and the mountain air was biting cold, but it was a fine day. Too fine to stay indoors. Hoping he could find his way back, he hurried with Sebrahn back to his room. Mydri had found a warmer coat for him than the one he’d been given in Gedre, sheepskin with the fleece on the inside, and a hat to match. They were bulky but warm, like the garments he and his father had worn. She’d given him mittens, as well, knit in intricate patterns of green and white yarn. There was a fleece coat for Sebrahn, too, and
mittens that he wouldn’t keep on his hands any more than he would keep shoes on unless Alec tied them tightly, as he had today; no matter how Alec tried to explain the rhekaro’s lack of needs, women were always fussing over him, and it wouldn’t help anyone to accept Sebrahn’s strangeness to see him walking barefoot in snow.

He did manage to find the porch again, though through a different door. Here, little bells tinkled overhead, hung from the eaves. Their clappers were tied to long cards that spun in the breeze, bearing prayers and wishes in elegant ’faie script. Seregil had put one up this morning. Its card read simply,
WISDOM
.

There were chairs here and there along the porch, and benches built into the wooden railings. It was easy to imagine a crowd out here on a summer’s eve, enjoying the bells as they watched the sun set over the mountains, painting the lake with gold. The lake was silver-grey today, and frozen along the shoreline. Out in the middle wild geese and ducks bobbed among the whitecaps, diving for their breakfast.

He chose a chair and propped his feet up on the rail. Sebrahn immediately took his place on Alec’s lap. A lone raven called from the forest, followed by the bright trill of a willow tit. Sparrows, doves, and a little green bird he’d forgotten the name of pecked at the crusts scattered on the ground for them. A few tiny brown dragons scuttled among them, too, and more scrambled and chirped for the red and yellow boiled millet and honeyed milk set out just for them. Several fluttered up to perch on Sebrahn and Alec’s hands. Sebrahn patted them, and one curled up in the rhekaro’s lap and went to sleep. Alec shook his head, smiling. Maybe Sebrahn was a “dragon friend,” like the man Seregil had mentioned?

There were more dragonlings here in the mountains than at Sarikali, according to Kheeta, and it certainly appeared to be true. He spotted several in the rafters overhead, and more perched on the railings and chairs. It was for that reason that no one in Bôkthersa kept cats. He hadn’t seen any in Sarikali, either, though cats were common enough in Gedre. Now that he thought about it, he’d never seen a dragon in Gedre.

The fingerlings didn’t disappear during the winter, either, like a lizard or snake. The one he held at the moment was warm to the touch, perhaps from the fire in its belly. Or maybe they were like Sebrahn, and just didn’t feel the cold at all? Or Sebrahn was like them.